


Hall

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment in the Great Hall with Albus' favourite student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hall

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: P_for_polkadots made a joke about Dumbledore/Teddy.

Albus’ bones don’t work the way they used to. They never really stopped living, simply fell under a spell, but they feel like they’ve been reanimated with spell-o-tape and chewing gum. The students that fill into the hall, lining up along the side, look younger than they ever have. It feels that way every year, but tenfold since his return. 

He still smiles at them. One thing that Albus never lets on is just how _tired_ he is, and he stands for his speech when they’re done, the applause unbelievably loud. Albus gestures for the silence and recites a speech he knows by heart. He used to change it—speak on the spot for every new year. He wants to attribute it to not being young anymore, but then, somedays Albus isn’t sure he’s ever been _young._

When the feast ends, the students file out. The professors that flank him—people he’s known for years—bid him goodnight with the usual warmth. He returns it all, but he stays. He takes his time eating his mashed potatoes, and even though Minerva tries to stay and make small talk, he outlasts her. (In the end, sometimes he feels like he outlasts everyone.)

The students are gone. The hall is dimmer—the candles begin to flicker out. The plates disappear, but Albus stays. A few House-elves appear in the corners, cleaning and readying. The sky is already stars, and Albus is so engrossed in his spoonful that he almost doesn’t notice the shadow approaching until it’s fallen over him.

Albus’ senses aren’t what they once were. His reactions aren’t as quick but are just as steady. He looks up calmly, sighing, “Mr. Lupin.”

“Headmaster,” the boy replies, inclining his head as though to bow. He isn’t really a _boy_ anymore—in their world, he’s an adult now, and this is the last year Albus will have with him. There are too many students every year for Albus to count, but he can always name them. Teddy’s always stood out. He would do so even without his turquoise hair and facial piercings, without his tattoos and without the handsome features he wears so well. The uniform he used to barely fill now stretches across his muscled chest, but he’ll always be a _boy_ to Albus. 

He leans across the table, his long fingers landing on it, skin slightly tanned. He looks so much like his father in some ways and so much like his mother in others. He’s intelligent and charming, and when he goes out into the world, he’ll have it all at his fingertips. His fingertips inch towards Albus’, and he asks in a conspirator’s whisper, “It’s late. Would you mind if I walked with you to your quarters?”

A smile quirks on Albus’ lips. He’s had Teddy in his quarters too many times to count. One too many extra lessons, forbidden spells, the things that separate a wizard from the _greats_. But Albus wouldn’t expect anything less from a boy with Marauder blood and raised by Harry Potter. Albus pushes his plate aside and watches it disappear into the ether; he wasn’t quite full, but it’s less appealing than human company. 

Teddy steps back, because he’s spent seven years under Albus’ care, and he knows Albus too well. Albus crouches down, hiking up his robes, and ducks under the table. It’s simply too long to walk around. On the other side, he straightens up, patting everything down. Teddy reaches up on his toes—he’s tall, but not this much—to help push Albus’ hat upright again. Albus only holds out his arm because he knows Teddy will take it either way. 

They sweep through the dark hall at a brisk pace. The thrill of youth thrums back through Albus’ limbs; he’s always younger around his students, especially around the particularly glimmering ones. Teddy is rejuvenating, and he doesn’t give Albus any room for pause. The last of the candles go out as they reach the towering oak doors, but the flickering starlight washes faintly overhead through high-up windows. Only one more year.

Then Albus will have to learn to keep his window open for the owls he knows Teddy will send.


End file.
